


To sleep: perchance to dream

by Outsider_Lookin_In



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Sick Character, Who dies, You Have Been Warned, and it is awful, like really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outsider_Lookin_In/pseuds/Outsider_Lookin_In
Summary: It had started with a cough. Innocuous enough. Just a tickle in the throat. Moomin had laughed it off, brushing Mama’s concern aside as he tugged on Snufkins’ sleeve, eager to start another Summer adventure. But the cough persisted.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	To sleep: perchance to dream

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while I was very sad, listening to very sad music, and so it is very sad. Can't say I didn't warn you.

Fields of brown sped endlessly by, the long furrows in the earth flickering like a filmstrip. Light, dark, light,dark, on and on until the shades blurred together in an uncanny mirage. Not quite solid. Snufkin squeezed his eyes shut, blocking the sight but it continued on, the flickering rows branded into his retinas. Turning from the open side of the car he curled up, tugging his coat firmly around himself for warmth and letting the clack of the wheels on the track pull him into an uneasy sleep.

All his sleep was uneasy these days. 

It had started with a cough. Innocuous enough. Just a tickle in the throat. Moomin had laughed it off, brushing Mama’s concern aside as he tugged on Snufkins’ sleeve, eager to start another Summer adventure.

But the cough persisted. A dry tickle became a wet hack. A wheezing, tearing, scratching sound like digging in wet, sucking mud, rocks scraping the shovel raw. Snufkin watched from the corner as Mama took Moomin by the hand, sitting him by the fire and draping him in blankets. 

She made teas and brews, poultices and herbal concoctions. Every page of Grandma’s book was consulted and when they had tried every remedy in it Moominmama sent for Too-Tickey.

Too-Tickey came. She prepared different herbs. She made a terrible brown gloop that Moomin swore tasted worse than licking Stinky, but he took it anyway, grimacing as he swallowed the syrup before turning green and promptly bringing it all back up again, along with breakfast, lunch and yesterday's dinner. Too-Tickey rubbed circles on his back and Snufkin saw an unfamiliar look of fear on her face.  Inside his chest his heart clattered painfully against his ribs. He left the room, the sounds of pained retching following him all the way to his tent.

They asked further afield. 

Moominpapa went to the witch. She held out at first, but after pleas from Alicia she relented and flew to Moominhouse. 

She spoke words of power. Words of healing. For three days she brewed potions and muttered spells. But on the third day she entered the sitting room, sadly shaking her head. Alicia was unconsolable, sobbing noisily, great gulping shuddering cries that threatened to drown her. Moominmama pulled her close, petting her hair and murmuring quiet comforts.

The Hemulen doctor left tinctures, Snork-Maiden brought flowers, Moominmama fluffed pillows and made soup, Moominpapa sat on the porch and smoked his pipe as though he might lift their sorrows away on clouds of smoke. And Snufkin, Snufkin sat in the little chair by Moomins’ bed, stroking his paw gently and listening to the strained wheezing beside him.

It seems such a simple thing, breathing. So easy even a newborn infant has it mastered. 

And yet.

Snufkin sat, great dark circles under his eyes as he watched the rise and fall of Moomins chest. Reaching out he rested his hand gently atop it, feeling the ribs now far too close to the fur. He closed his eyes, matching his own breathing with Moomins’ as though he might breathe for the both of them. Muscles moved under his hand, contracting and expanding, ribs pulling apart and resettling, everything slipping and sliding and all in their proper place. There was no mark on the outside, no indication that there was anything wrong at all. 

And yet…

Moomin slept. Outside the sun rose and fell but it held no sway over the occupants of the small attic room. Snufkin took turns with Moominmama and Papa, keeping a constant vigil. The candle by the bedside never guttered.

Snufkin woke to a sound that brought a cold sweat to his skin. Flinging his blanket away he leapt from the couch, tearing up the stairs two at a time in fear and desperation. The wail grew louder until he burst through the door to Moomins’ room and all sound vanished. 

Moominmama was seated on the bed, Moomin cradled in her lap.There was blood on his chin, red speckles marring the white fur. 

The wheezing had stopped.

They buried him on a hill overlooking the beach. The earth was loamy and soft, like a good bed. Snufkin gripped his shovel with shaking hands. Beside him Sniff attacked the dirt with a vengeance, mud pooling at his feet as he worked. Neither spoke.

Most of the valley came. Snork-Maiden was ghostly pale as she leaned heavily on her brothers’ arm. Before they closed the dirt she slipped the gold bangle from her paw, casting it into the grave with the first handful of earth, before burying her face in the Snorks chest, her sobs giving voice to the silent sound of hearts breaking.

Snufkin jerked awake, the whistle of the train tearing him from his dreams. Slinging his pack up over his shoulder he sat on the edge of the car and dropped neatly off the side. 

He walked across a field to the gravel road that led to the town. Looking at the trees he realized with a shock that it was May again. A wisteria tree was in first bloom, it’s scent trailing delicately through the air, wrapping around him like a silk scarf, or soft, white fur. 

The pain didn’t lessen. Every day he awoke with a whimper as the emptiness in his chest sucked and pulled and threatened to turn him inside out. Looking down at his own hands he frowned at the wrinkles and lines he saw there. How long had it been?

The years marched on, season after season, and Snufkin marched with them. Perhaps, one day, he might find his way to the earth as well. Fall asleep and wake to smiling eyes. It was a beautiful dream and for a moment the hollowness felt almost bearable. 

The the moment passed, as all things do. Snufkin walked on.


End file.
